Chapter Thirteen
Daphne
My back hurts again. I’m turning into such a pampered princess.
“How long until we get to his cave?” I ask. We’ve been trekking for too many turns. We should already be there. It didn’t take this long when we traveled from his cave back to the Hallows.
“We aren’t going to his cave,” Nash says. His gaze tightens as he notices me wriggling against Malachi, who groans in response.
I said I wouldn’t go easy on him, but it isn’t fun when it’s not premeditated. Wait. “Where are we going then?”
Hart glances over his shoulder from his lead position. “Beyond So Far Away.”
“There’s a beyond?” I whisper. “Don’t we risk falling off the end of the realm? It’s got to end at some point, right?”
“There are a few theories,” Nash answers. “One, the realm is flat and if you continue you will reach the end of the world.”
That’s a terrifying thought. I cause enough issues without a realm boundary I can’t return from. “And the others?”
“That we’re on a giant ball.”
I frown as I try to imagine us floating around on a giant ball. “We’d fall off,” I point out the obvious. “Also, who says where the top is? The rest of us have to work extra hard to stay attached.”
“The logical conclusion would be that the Hallows are the center,” Malachi decides.
That makes sense, but the rest of it, not so much. “We’re far out from the center, and I don’t feel like I’m falling. Anyone else?”
They shake their heads in agreement. “But the guy who proposed this says there’s an invisible force that keeps us tethered to the ball,” Nash adds.
I snort at the ridiculousness. I live in a world of magic and wishes, but floating balls with supernatural forces? That’s going too far. “What do you believe?”
Nash takes a deep breath in as he contemplates his answer. “I made a plea to the stars, and they gave you back to us. I can believe in anything after that.”
The silence stretches once more while we all think about the colossal events that have led us here. “Bet you never imagined your annus would be filled with a chaotic maiden rampaging her way through your carefully laid-out futures.”
Hart chuckles. “Nope, but I thank this annus and every annus that follows that we found you.”
“I believe it is I who found you,” I counter.
Malachi’s hand rubs against my stomach in what I’m assuming is meant to be a comforting motion. But instead, he’s making me hot and bothered. Again.
I turn my head so our lips graze. “Unless you are about to demonstrate remarkable dexterity and balance upon a saddle, you need to stop stroking me.” He licks his lips, and a little of that wicked light twinkles in his eye.
Oh Holy Idol babies, my sunshine twin is about to be very naughty. “What are you doing?” I whisper.
His hand skims the outside of my thigh, his fingers trailing up my bare flesh.
I squirm against him, catching Nash’s dark frown.
I smile sweetly, giving him my best “there’s nothing to see here” look.
Malachi’s wandering hands are buried underneath the cloak, hiding his actions from his brother’s probing gaze.
Malachi sucks in a breath as he reaches my apex and presses against my clit in a determined manner that makes me lightheaded. He’s about to fondle my floof while mounted on a noble steed. The things these horses must witness. They probably have gossip fests and laugh at us and our crazy ways.
“Stay still, Daphne,” he mutters. I tip myself back a little, seeking friction. This definitely helps with the back pain.
Pain, shmain. Who’s hurting? Not me. No siree.
Malachi chuckles against my neck. “Try to stop talking if you can’t stop moving.”
“Then put your fingers where I need them, and I’ll stop,” I challenge.
“What are you two doing?” Hart calls out. “You know we’re only a turn from making camp for the night.”
Great, in a turn, we can repeat this whole thing with extra sausage and less horse. The fact that I can barely move drives me wild.
His fingers curve beneath my panties, and the unbelievable sensation of his bare fingers against my naked flesh makes my eyes cross.
“Breathe,” Malachi murmurs.
“Please,” I whisper. They are trying to kill me with their gentle touches and careful handling. I need my rough-and-ready knights, unafraid to tumble with the maiden who is more likely to set their world on fire than anything else.
“I like you begging,” he groans.
“I like you making me come. Let’s match those two things and both of us will be happy, yes?”
Nash snorts, proving they’re more than aware of everything happening beneath my cloak. Come to think of it, I am a little hot. But I’m not willing to stop this when in a few quick strokes, I’ll be flying higher than the stars I fell from.
“You’re soaking,” he growls. “Fuck. Lean back against me.”
I do as he instructs, willing to do about anything to release this tension. He slides a finger inside me and, in a clever move, swipes another against my clit. I feel myself clenching around him. “That’s it,” he demands. “Come for me.”
I arch my back, and he slams his lips on mine, determined to own all the pleasure escaping from lips.
“Camp, now,” Hart growls, breaking me out of my kiss and mindless pleasure.
Malachi’s hand stills beneath the cloak. I blink, dazed, heat still curling through my veins like a lazy snake.
“Already?” I complain. “We were in the middle of an important therapeutic back-pain treatment.”
Nash arches a brow. “You were about to fall off the horse.”
“Worth it,” I mutter.
Malachi chuckles into my shoulder.
Hart swings down first, scanning the darkening forest for threats. The trees here are taller and thinner, their trunks pale as bones. A soft shimmer of silver light flickers ahead through the branches.
“What’s that?” I ask.
Malachi follows my gaze. “Water.”
My heart perks up as I’m lifting from the horse, and my legs, back, and muscles I had no idea existed spasm in pain. “I’m not built to ride. But please tell me it’s a lake. I feel like I’ve been basted in saddle sweat for a thousand annuses.”
Nash huffs. “A thousand annuses?”
“You suggested we might be living on a giant ball, clinging to it without thought, and the idea of living for a thousand annuses is beyond your comprehension?”
“I guess not,” Hart mutters.
“The fellow who theorized that also says the ball is in constant rotation,” Nash adds.
“Now I know you’re making this up,” I huff. “If I stand still, I’m not hurtling around on a spinning ball. This person is clearly a crackpot.”
They lead the horses through the trees until the forest opens like a curtain being drawn back.
A lake spreads before us, still and silver, the surface reflecting the moon like a polished mirror.
Pale reeds whisper at the edges, and fireflies hover above the water like drifting stars visiting us from the skies.
“Wow,” I breathe. “This is gorgeous. We should build a summer house here. Or a murder cabin, depending on the mood. It could be both, a dual-purpose hideaway.”
“Who are we murdering, Calamity?” Hart wonders.
“Poseidon,” I say, holding my index finger up. “The duke in Strongfair.”
“What did he do?” Hart growls as we stop at the edge of the lake.
I shrug. “Nothing too heinous. Made comments about my intellect and my penchant for disasters.”
“He’s all but dead,” Malachi says. “Any more?”
“Possibly Charming. I’d like to keep him on the maybe list.”
Nash shakes his head as they secure the horses to the trees.
I frown. “Do horses sleep standing up?”
“They doze, but they need to lie down for deep rest,” Nash explains.
“With their eyes open?” A shudder runs over my shoulders.
“For the dozing portion.”
“Creepy. Genie, we’re pausing for the night,” I call out. He pops into existence with Sir Sweeps-A-Lot shivering in his grasp. “Why are you holding my broom hostage?”
Genie glares at him. “He’s in a timeout.”
“What happened?” I ask as I plonk my ass down and pull off my boots and socks. Nobody is going to keep me from a dip in the moonlit water.
“He claimed he could help spruce up the place for my date.”
My shoulders slump. I’m a terrible friend for forgetting my genie had a date. “How did it go? You got rid of the green at least.”
He scowls at Sir Sweeps-A-Lot. “The green genie is yesterday’s news. This diurnal, it’s all about the lamp. A genie of my stature can’t waste time on glory chasers.”
The knights chuckle alongside me. “I see, and how did Sir Sweeps-A-Lot land in a time-out?”
“Picture this.” He waves his hand in the air, and a hazy scene appears over the lake.
The water ripples, then smooths out like a polished mirror. Inside it, a grand golden chamber takes shape. Velvet cushions in jewel tones are scattered everywhere, fountains bubble with something that looks like pink lemonade, and sheer curtains float in a breeze.
“Oh my,” I whisper. “It’s like a boudoir had a baby with a treasure chest.”
“It’s a curated magical residence with forgiving lighting,” the genie corrects.
A golden chaise lounge, draped in silk, sits in the center. A tray of fruit floats by of its own accord, while a tiny orchestra of teacups plays a romantic tune in the corner.
“Your lamp has an orchestra?” I ask.
“They’re pricey,” he mutters. “But I wanted to show how serious I was.”
In the vision, the genie—wearing a deep purple vest—paces.
“I was preparing for Henrietta’s visit,” he explains. “Mood lighting. Fresh fruit. I even rearranged the cloud seating into a more conversational configuration.”
“Very classy clouds,” I agree.
“Thank you. They took hours to whip into shape since they’re always trying to float away.”
The vision shifts as a swirl of glitter appears inside the lamp. A woman steps out of it—tall, elegant, and wrapped in layers of flowing midnight silk.
“That’s her?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says with a smile that tells me how much he likes her. “Henrietta of the Sapphire Sands. Collector of rare lamps. Breaker of hearts. Owner of the most judgmental eyebrows in the realm.”